At precisely three o’clock the carriage from Tracy Park drew up before the station, awaiting the arrival of the train and Gretchen, but though the former came, the latter did not, and John returned alone, mentally avowing to himself that he would not be sent on a fool’s errand a third time; but five o’clock found him there again with the same result.  Gretchen did not come, and Arthur’s face wore a sad, troubled expression, and looked pale and worn, notwithstanding the many times he bathed it in the coldest water and rubbed it with the coarsest towels.

He had unpacked several of his trunks and boxes, and made friends of all she servants by the presents, curious and rare, which he gave them, while Dolly’s headache had been wholly cured at sight of the exquisite diamonds which her husband brought to her room and told her were hers, the gift of Arthur, who had bought them in Paris, and who begged her to accept them with his love.

The box itself, which was of tortoise shell, lined with blue velvet, was a marvel of beauty, while the pin was a cluster of five diamonds with a larger one in the center, but the ear-rings were solitaires, large and brilliant, and Dolly’s delight knew no bounds as she took the dazzling stones in her hands and examined them carefully.  Diamond were the jewels of all others which she coveted, but which Frank never felt warranted in buying, and now they were hers, and for a time she forgot even Gretchen, whose arrival, or rather non-arrival, troubled her as much as it did her brother-in-law.

Arthur had been very quiet and gentle all the afternoon, showing no sign of the temper he had exhibited the previous night at sight of Harold until about six o’clock, when Tom, his ten-year-old nephew, came rushing into the library, followed by Peterkin, very hot and very red in the face, which he mopped with his yellow silk handkerchief.

‘Oh, mother,’ Tom began, ’what do you think Harold Hastings has done?  He stole Mrs. Peterkin’s gold pin last night.  It was stuck in her shawl, and she couldn’t find it, and Lucy saw him fumbling with the things, and he denies it up hill and down, and Mr. Peterkin is going to arrest him.  I guess Dick St. Claire won’t think him the nicest boy in town now.  The thief!  I’d like—­

But what he would like was never known, for with a spring Arthur bounded toward him, and seizing him by the coat collar, shook him vigorously, while he exclaimed: 

’Coward and liar!  Harold Hastings is not a thief!  No child of Amy Crawford could ever be a thief, and if you say that again, or even insinuate it to any living being, I’ll break every bone in your body.  Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir; no sir, I won’t; I won’t,’ Tom gasped, as well as he could, with his head bobbing forward and back so rapidly that his teeth cut into his under lip.

‘But I shall,’ Peterkin roared.  ’I’ll have the young dog arrested, too, if he don’t own up and give up.’